


It's Not So Bad

by The Stephanois (ballantine)



Series: Hat Verse [2]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Erik's Helmet Is A Hat, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angst, Angst and Humor, M/M, Pining, the early noughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:42:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballantine/pseuds/The%20Stephanois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is back in the States and starting at Columbia in the fall. It's going to be a long summer up in Molesworth-on-Hudson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The House

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to [It's a Semi-Charmed Life](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1749071/chapters/3736937)
> 
> Title from Dido's Thank You (we're up in 2001 now, ready yourself accordingly).

They rolled down the long drive, and it's not so much a punch to the gut as something out of a dream, that strange sensation when old places from your memory show up in random ways. Since the house couldn't exactly move, Charles could only assume it was himself that was out of place.

“Well, there she is,” Raven said as she shut the car off. They both got out and then stood there, looking up at the huge house. It's darkened windows stared back, accusing.

Charles had always had mixed feelings about the old house. It was, after all, his childhood home. But his childhood had been mostly fine, no amount of fond memories of sliding down stairway bannisters could completely smother the embarrassment of the house's presence in a county where the median household income hovered around $40,000 a year.

When he'd built the house back in 1855, Sampson Henry Xavier, Esq. had not so much embraced the Renaissance Revival as he fell in love and ran off with it. After seeing the squat mobile homes of Colonial Acres Park in Molesworth-on-Hudson for the first time back when he was ten, Charles hadn't been able to so much as glance at the stepped gables of the Xavier House without feeling a twinge of disquiet.

None of that was on his mind at the moment. He'd been away too many years to feel anything but a sort of wistful trepidation about living inside the house's elaborate walls once more. And for all Charles's misgivings about spending his summer before university in Molesworth-on-Hudson of all places, he couldn't deny that it was beautiful summer evening. The sun was at that perfect angle that made every color richer and warmer, and a slight breeze waved the oak branches overhead in an idyllic rustle.

“Thank _god_ ,” Raven said, stretching her long blue arms over her head. In the patched sunlight, she was a blaze of color. “I'm never going back to England, I don't care how good their chocolate bars are. Oh, Sun, I've _missed_ you.”

Charles smiled and went to fetch the bags from the trunk.

\- - - -

The door swung open, slow and heavy, and they stepped inside. Charles looked around contemplatively, observing the absolute emptiness of the entrance hall, the matching emptiness of the adjacent sitting room, and set his bags down on the floor.

“Raven, did you call and tell them to get the furniture out of storage?”

“Mmm,” Raven said. “Nope.”

“Right. Well,” he said. “Guess we're sleeping on the floor.”

\- - - -

The sun eventually set, casting long creeping shadows through the western windows. They sat on a big pile of all their blankets in what was their old computer room and ate pizza from the one place in M-o-H that delivered outside of town. It tasted exactly the same as Charles remembered.

“Not enough sauce,” Raven said, licking her fingers.

“Yep,” Charles said.

Even with the sauce issue, it had still been a treat to get delivery when they were kids, a rare treat. It didn't feel like that anymore; now it was just enough to kill hunger but not much else.

“Shit,” Raven said suddenly as Charles was carefully refilling two cups with the last of their liquor. “I just realized – we can't buy alcohol here. We're underage all over again.”

“I never got the impression that it's that hard for teenagers to get alcohol in the U.S.,” Charles pointed out philosophically.

“Yeah, in _movies_ , Charles. Not in Molesworth-on-fucking-Hudson.”

He shrugged, “There is literally _nothing else_ to do here, so I really don't think it's going to be a problem.”

“But we have no connections,” Raven persisted. She gestured expansively, “What, are you going to just call up Erik and ask him if he can get some?” She laughed, already a little tipsy and missing Charles's slight pause.

“No. I'm not going to do that,” he said quietly.

He hadn't spoken to Erik in almost four years, and it hadn't been a pleasant parting. To be honest, he'd thought of little else as soon as Raven and he'd decided to come back for the summer. He knew it was pretty pathetic. Most guys didn't obsess over friends they'd had when they were thirteen.


	2. The Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Nucleoo:** The war is still coming, William. And I intend to fight it, by any means necessary.  
>  **Professor William Francis Yates:** And I will always be there, old friend.
> 
> – _Y-Men_ (2000)

The grocery store in town was no longer called Seb's IGA but was now Seb's County Market. Charles wasn't sure what the change in name was supposed to indicate; the inside mostly looked the same, all aged tiles, low ceilings, and a desperate lack of fresh produce.

Charles put some carrots and bananas in his basket and moved dejectedly on into the rest of the store.

The drive up from LaGuardia the previous day hadn't necessitated passing through M-o-H, but when they'd woken up this morning it was clear that there was no putting off going into town. Apart from the furniture issue they also had no food in the house. So Charles had hectored and shoved a very hungover Raven until she got up to drive him in. She'd pulled into the small parking lot and promptly reclined her seat back.

“You're not coming in?” He'd said to her, leaning down to look through the still-open window of the passenger side.

“Get me eggs and bacon. And bananas.” She said, sunglasses firmly on and already slipping backwards into sleep in the midday warmth of early summer.

Eggs and bacon, Seb's County Market _did_ have. Charles dutifully put some into his basket and then wandered around the back of the store somewhat cluelessly. He didn't know how to cook, not even a little, but he'd read all sorts of health articles in magazines on the flight back to the States that had left him with not a little amount of anxiety about what to buy. The English were pretty solidly sold on the idea that America was due for an epidemic of heart attacks any day now.

As he was passing the cured meats and sausages display for the second time, he saw something flash out of the corner of his eye. He paused, stepped backwards a few feet, and looked down the canned vegetable aisle, but aside from a few open boxes on the ground, it was empty. He shrugged and moved on.

His final haul consisted of cereal, milk, bread, and peanut butter – all actual foods, so he did all right there. And fish, he'd picked up some fish. Fish was healthy, right? He'd also grabbed supposed staples likes salt and baking soda and paper towels with little flags printed on the sheets. His basket was overflowing; he really should have grabbed a cart.

By the time he got to the register and saw that it was deserted, it finally occurred to him how weirdly empty the store had been the whole time. He unloaded all of his purchases onto the cracked conveyer belt and then waited there like a complete idiot for several minutes.

He put his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, and looked pointedly around. Nicole Kidman smiled coolly back at him from the magazine rack.

Charles worked himself up enough to actually call out, “Uh, hullo?” His voice was simultaneously too loud and too quiet.

This was ridiculous. You'd never leave a shop unattended in London, Charles thought. He wished he could take the current situation as a sign of neighborly trust or small-town decency, but the reality was more likely that Sebastian Shaw ran a pretty shoddy operation and only hired deadbeat teenagers and burnouts.

Sighing, Charles walked down the line of aisles, looking for an employee of some kind.

In the canned vegetable aisle was a tall boy with his back to Charles and – a _ha_ – large headphones on. Charles could hear the music bleed out from twenty feet away.

Charles readied himself to say something when the boy started violently bobbing his head to the music and swinging his arms through the air as if playing an imaginary drum set.

With every rhythmic cut of the boy's arms, a can shot up from the box and aligned itself on the shelf. In rapid syncopation with what was clearly some kind of drum solo, the box was quickly emptied.

Charles froze.

In his shock, he subconsciously made the boy freeze as well. He was caught in an absurd action pose, head thrown back, long wiry arms half raised and canted like he was about to smash something, legs bent inwards at the knees and ragged chucks lifted at the heels.

The chucks were purple, Charles saw, and the star on the side had been colored a deep magenta.

Mind blank except for the instinct for flight, Charles fled back to the register in a skidding panic, threw a handful of bills down, shoved what he could into some bags and booked it out of the store. There was absolutely no need to run, but he did, for reasons he couldn't really explain if one were to ask. It was only when a very confused Raven had pulled out of the lot and around the corner that Charles closed his eyes and let Erik move again, smoothing over any mental hiccups but very carefully not looking deeper into his mind.

\- - - -

“Wait. You saw Erik?” Raven said as she peeled open the package of bacon. They were standing at the kitchen counter, unpacking the groceries. Well – Raven was unpacking the groceries and Charles was staring blankly into space, still a bit faint from the shock.

“Yeah,” he said.

“And Erik's a _bag boy_?” She said in disbelief.

“Well, I mean, it looked like he was also handling inventory and the register,” Charles said, a little defensive. “He's not _just_ a bag boy, don't say it like that.”

Raven raised her eyebrows, “I didn't say it like anything, Charles, that's all on you. Most kids our age have done some kind of crappy job, we're the weird ones for not.” She shrugged, “Though I am surprised Erik's able to hold one down.”

“He's eighteen, of course he can keep a job.” But Charles didn't have much faith in what he was saying. They were talking about, after all, the boy that had been forbidden from participating in the baseball fundraising drives after that candy bar incident in the sixth grade. And he'd never been very good at some things, like patience or authority or following directions.

Raven hummed skeptically and lifted up a slice of bacon. She paused and looked down at the stove. “Charles?”

“Hmm?” He said absently. _God_ , he'd just ran out of there like a complete _coward_.

“We don't have any pans, do we.”

Charles looked around the empty kitchen and then sighed, burying his head in his arms.

\- - - -

That night, Charles was woken out of a fitful sleep by some serious mental activity in the house. He didn't have to look over in the darkened room to know that Raven was no longer lying on her piles of blankets, and he didn't need to listen to know there was a struggle going on downstairs. He dashed out of the room without pause.

It's a pity; if he'd paused he could have pulled on a shirt and some trousers. Instead he found himself sliding sock-footed in his boxers into the study on the first floor, where Raven was grappling with a hooded figure.

Apparently Erik remembered that the study window had a weak latch.

“Raven, stop, that's Erik!” He shouted over the thuds and grunts. He cringed slightly as Raven shoved Erik back against the wall with a sharp crack and then kept him pinned here with a foot high against his jugular. The hood had fallen back, revealing Erik's singularly serious face.

“So it is,” she said to Charles. “Well, he _was_ breaking in.”

Erik didn't speak, but his eyes flicked from Raven to Charles, to _down_ Charles, and back.

Charles really wished he'd put a shirt on, or maybe taken his stupid socks off.

“Look, just – ” Charles approached the pair and after a distracted moment swatted at Raven's leg. “Put that down, will you? Jesus.” He looked back at Erik, who was now studying the retracted blue leg with faint appraisal.

Charles cleared his throat, “So. Break in here often, or did you know we were back?”

Erik raised an eyebrow, “Between my CD magically skipping a full minute into the future over the course of a second _and_ the hundred British dollars – pounds, whatever – I found at the register?” Erik shrugged and smirked faintly, “Call it a lucky guess." His voice was deeper and its cadence smooth and confident.  

Raven relaxed all at once, her body seamlessly switching from killing machine to loose-limbed sloth as she turned and draped herself along Charles's shoulders. He could feel the faint sweat from her fight against his bare back.

“Come to welcome us back, have you?” Raven said sweetly, and together they looked expectantly at Erik.

Erik just blinked and looked back at them both with an arrested focus, and though Charles couldn't see it in the dim lighting, he could feel the rising flush of Erik's emotions. It was the one aspect of his powers he wasn't yet adept at blocking; for example, the curve of Raven's smile near his ear was practically a physical sensation, her glee was so strong in that moment.

Charles shrugged Raven off absent-mindedly and nodded to the doorway. “How about we move this along to the kitchen? There's lights in there.”

And if that move allowed Charles to stop by his duffle in the hall and snatch up a shirt on the way, all the better.

 


	3. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Tim:** I think it was John Lennon who said "Life is what happens when you're making other plans." And that's how I feel. Although he also said "I am the walrus. I am the eggman." So I don't know what to believe.  
>  _\- The Office (UK)_

“So where's your mom, is she back too?” Erik asked once they were all standing in the kitchen. They'd turned on only one of the lights, a warm dimmer fixture that hung over the counter island and created an intimate atmosphere that made Charles feel equal parts sentimental and awkward.

“Still in London with Kurt,” Raven said. “We all decided this arrangement was for the best.” The less said about the Xavier family dynamics the better, was the unspoken directive.

Charles shifted forward so his elbows were resting on the counter and his boxer-covered lower half was strategically hidden from view.

“So... you're working for Seb,” he said, glancing up. He found he could only look at Erik in short intervals, he didn't know what was wrong with himself. He'd known Erik since he was a _kid_. Besides, he's dated guys in the past couple of years, so why did he suddenly feel like he was back in the closet in the worst way?

Oh, right, because he kind of was.

Erik shrugged. “He caught me lifting some soda last fall, said he wouldn't call the cops if I agreed to work for him.”

“Really,” Charles said, dubious. What part of shoplifting screamed _potential_ _trustworthy employee_?

“Yeah,” Erik said, stone cold oblivious. “I ran the shop after school and – and, you know, did odd jobs for him.”

It wasn't Erik's tone that tipped Charles off so much as the buzz of deceit running along his thoughts as he spoke. Odd jobs, indeed. Charles didn't pry any further; he didn't want to know, to be honest. He was only here for the summer.

“Did he let you off for baseball practice?” He asked, trying to reach for some familiar ground.

Erik's face went blank. “I don't play baseball anymore.”

“...Oh.” Charles exchanged glances with Raven, who made an _ooh, awwwwkard_ face. Charles looked back at Erik, standing there all tall and grim, and he just couldn't help himself. It didn't matter that it was about fucking high school baseball, he felt kind of sad.

“Still got the band though,” Erik said, straightening up.

Charles abruptly stopped feeling sad. “Wait. The, what was it... the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants?”

Erik paused, and his eyes went wide in an expression so startled and honest that it jolted Charles straight to the core.

“I forgot about that.” Erik shut his eyes. “Oh _god_.” He punctuated his exclamation by slapping a hand over his face, and Charles and Raven both laughed at him. After a moment he dropped the hand and nodded gamely. “Yeah, okay, _hilarious._ And, no, it's just The Brotherhood now.”

Raven hummed, “Are you any good? Because, you know, we're going to throw a party here this summer and could use – ”

“Raven,” Charles said firmly, “We've discussed this. We're not having a party in this house.”

Raven waved Charles off and whispered conspiratorially to Erik, “We're having a party. It's going to be great.”

“...And who are you gonna invite?” Erik asked in clear amusement.

Raven paused, and they all reflected on the sad social standing of the Xavier siblings. When they'd left four years previous, Raven was already not on speaking terms with anyone else, and Charles had always kind of blended into the background in an affable if non-memorable sort of way. They didn't really _know_ anyone aside from Erik.

“I don't suppose people stopped being terrified of you,” Raven asked without much hope.

Erik shrugged, “No.” As her shoulders slumped, he added, “But that kind of thing actually kind of works for you in high school. I know some people.”

Raven brightened, and Charles had a brief, horrific vision of the type of people Erik knew.

He said again, “We are _not_ hosting a party in this house!”

–

They talked for a long time, heedless of the passing hours or the creeping approach of dawn. Erik relaxed; Charles watched.

It was so strange to see occasional glimpses of the boy he'd known in a face almost grown up, at once dearly familiar and completely alien – for he _looked_ grown up. Like, if Erik was arrested for one of his tantrums, the _Molesworth-on-Hudson Telegram_ would probably refer to him as a _man_ in the article about it, while Charles knew he'd probably still be getting carded when he was forty.

Eventually they talked about the house; furniture always worked as a conversation piece, even when it was about a lack of it. Erik made some comment about them needing some if they were going to stay there long and, well, then –

“Well, I'm not feeling really motivated, it's kind of like camping. And it's not forever, I'll be staying in the dorms at Columbia in the fall,” Charles said.

There was a strange pause. Part of it was because Raven was nodding off and not really participating in the conversation anymore. But the other part was because Erik was suddenly staring at the floor and nodding in an oddly vigorous and fixated fashion.

“Columbia,” Erik nodded for the fifth time. “Right. Of course.”

Charles wanted to use his powers more than anything at that moment. But he didn't let himself look; he didn't believe he'd find anything he wanted to see, and he didn't want to know.

He was only here for the summer.

“Well, I gotta go.” Erik said and stood abruptly.

Charles blinked. “What?”

He wasn't stupid; he knew that he'd taken Erik by surprise, that the other boy hadn't known or expected that Charles was going away again in the fall – beyond that, he wouldn't have guessed about how Erik felt about it. Apparently how he felt about it was dismissive.

“It's late,” Erik said, moving to the door of the room and gesturing back to the kitchen window, which showed the damning pale blue of dawn. Just looking at it made Charles feel exhausted, but he barely noticed because Erik was _leaving_ , and if he left, how was Charles supposed to stumble upon a way for them to talk again and –

“Want to hang out tomorrow?”

“Uh ...huh?” Charles looked over to where Erik was still standing in the doorway, waiting.

Erik didn't look at him directly, but nodded again in his general direction. “Cool, meet me at Oak and First at 2?”

Charles, tired and wired all at once, agreed. He let Erik leave – through the door this time – and then sat in the slowly lightening room for several slow, quiet minutes before jostling Raven and going back up to bed.

 


	4. The Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's funny how our perceptions can be so off. Like when you're searching for a place to fit in and you don't realize you've been there the whole time ... Of course, in my case I knew exactly where I stood and it didn't feel that good.
> 
> \- Scrubs S01E08

Charles paced restlessly underneath the full glare of the sun, craning his neck down the length of the road and thinking to himself: stupid, this is so stupid. He'd told Erik he'd meet him in town, and now he was going to be late or not get there at all, all because he didn't want to admit that he didn't know how to drive a car.

In his defense, it wasn't exactly the rite of passage or even necessity in London the way it was here. Anytime he needed to go somewhere, he always had the Underground or a bus or – or hijacking, as Raven so inappropriately termed it. See, city traffic was usually slow enough for Charles to just... reach out and order a mind to pull over and give him a ride. And, look, he only ever picked people who were going the same direction as he wanted, so it's not like he was being selfish or anything. It wasn't _hijacking._ If anything, really, it was carpooling.

Hijacking (carpooling) didn't work as well when a car only went by every ten minutes and usually at over 50 miles per hour. But still, Charles stood there and tried.

A car eventually approached, but it was going the wrong direction – away from town, not to it. Charles sighed and stepped back a few paces, trying not to look like such a freak just standing out in the middle of no where.

He was startled as the car slowed down as it neared. Still not looking over, Charles reached out mentally.

It was Erik.

Charles turned around to find him leaning over his passenger seat, one arm still on the wheel, sunglasses and wide grin in place.

“You bumped into Raven,” Charles concluded.

Erik shrugged one shoulder. “She stopped by, mentioned you might need a ride since she'd taken the car.”

“How thoughtful.” Charles wasn't being sarcastic; Raven could have told Erik he didn't know how to drive. He gestured at the car, an older model Cavalier with mismatched panels: pristine condition where metal and pinged where plastic. “You didn't paint it purple, I see.”

Erik laughed and ducked his head slightly, acknowledging the hit. “There's a fine line between a trademark and cop-bait, Charles.”

Charles had never had any call to interact with the police, but that sounded reasonable. He got in the car.

Erik grinned at him for a second longer and then started to roll the car in a broad U-turn using only his left hand. Charles smiled back, slightly startled at the other boy's bright mood.

Erik's right arm remained slung over the top passenger seat, like he'd forgotten to move it. Charles imagined he could feel the press of heat from it, but that was very likely just the vinyl seats and lack of air conditioning. He decided to pretend the arm wasn't there and watched the surrounding fields pass by like maybe they'd changed into something more interesting in the past four years (they hadn't).

“So you're going to Columbia,” Erik said after a moment, and there was no trace of the anger and disappointment from last night in his voice. Charles wondered if he'd gotten over it so quickly.

“Uh, yeah. Move-in's at the end of August.”

“That's in the City, right?” Erik glanced over for confirmation and Charles, eyebrows raised, nodded slightly. “Good school,” Erik added vaguely. Charles was pretty sure that he didn't know the first thing about Columbia or its reputation, which was pretty remarkable, considering.

“Erik, are you trying to _chit-chat_ with me?” He demanded.

Erik jerked slightly, and his arm came off the back of Charles's seat in an awkward shot. He glanced from the road to Charles and back again, a slight flush on his cheeks. He scowled a little and muttered something under his breath that Charles didn't catch and then seemed to get a grip on himself.

“No, I'm not, and don't be such a prick. I was just trying to... show an interest, or whatever.”

“Uh huh.” Charles looked away and watched the squat, ugly houses and For Sale signs roll by.

“Is Raven going with you?” Erik asked after a moment.

Charles should have known.

Mentally sighing, he finally relaxed, slouching a little more into the passenger seat and bidding farewell to his barely-born hope. To Erik, he said, “She hasn't decided yet. She's thinking of trying to live somewhere else, wants to do something more 'original' than New York.”

“More original? What does that mean?”

Charles shrugged, “Hell if I know. Last month it was farming on a commune in Missouri, next month it'll probably be joining the CIA.”

Erik said, “Well, she _would_ be good at that.”

Charles laughed a little, “She'd never pass the psych evals, but I'm glad her skills made an impression.”

Erik reached up to touch the faint bruising at his neck, “They certainly did.”

They drove in relative quiet for a few minutes, the sound of the road mostly covering up the low volume of the radio. Erik took his hands off the wheel several times, and it was only then that Charles noticed that he'd wrapped strips of metal along the rim – so he could drive handlessly, apparently. Charles barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Erik was still a show-off.

“So what are you going to study?” Erik asked.

“...Biology,” Charles said. “Genetics.”

A strange smile hooked Erik's mouth. “Going to solve the Mutant Problem?”

Charles's heart sank; looks like someone had spent the morning reading up on current events in New York City. “No – of course not,” he said. “Jesus, Erik, how can you even ask me that?”

Erik pressed, “Do they know you're a mutant? The University?”

“There wasn't exactly a question on the application,” Charles said. _Not for lack of lobbying by certain influential donors, mind..._

“So that's a _no_ – ”

“It's no one's damn business anyway!” Charles snapped. “What the hell, Erik? You said you wanted to hang out, not give me the third degree?” He couldn't believe they were already fighting.

Erik glanced over at Charles again, and his face fell slightly. He shook his head, “Sorry, I – I didn't mean anything by it.” He paused and then continued, sincere like it was painful. “I think it's good that you're going to school. You always were the smart one.”

And there it was, a part of having a best friend that Charles had managed to forget: how attributes got divided up and assigned. Charles was always the smart one, never mind that Erik surely could have matched his grades if he'd ever tried. Erik was always the athletic one, never mind that Charles'd had the fastest times in the 50m, 100m, and half-mile runs.

One couldn't identify as a best friend without being put in some sort of box by each other or others. Used to be, Charles hadn't care what box he was in as long as Erik was there with him.

“I'm not ashamed of being a mutant,” he said to the passenger window.

Erik said, real quiet, “Okay,” and reached to turn the radio up.

–

Charles looked around and frowned as Erik swung the car into the parking lot of Seb's County Market.

“Just need to pick up my paycheck,” Erik said in response to his questioning look. Then he cursed because someone had parked across two parking spaces with their SUV. Before Charles could suggest just parking on the other side, Erik made an irritated gesture with his hand, and the SUV shunted over the requisite four feet needed to fit Erik's car.

The SUV's alarm started blaring immediately, but Erik didn't seem to notice as he got out of the car and walked inside. What unfolded next was excruciating from Charles's end.

Charles watched aghast through the windshield as a man ran past Erik to check the vehicle, watched as his panic turned into incredulous realization which morphed into outrage.

With the alarm still deafening the entire parking lot, the man marched back inside the store and confronted Erik. Charles saw them exchange a few words, and whatever Erik said, it convinced the man to storm red-faced back to his vehicle and peel out of the lot in a hurry.

Charles turned back to look at Erik, who was now talking heatedly with the clerk at the register. Charles watched this for a few moments before curiosity won out. He concentrated, tapping into the clerk's surface thoughts.

“I thought we were getting a bonus this week,” Erik said.

The clerk shrugged, bored. He wasn't one of the workers getting bonuses, so he didn't give a fuck about any of it. “Seb says he won't hand out the bonuses until he sees some results from the Trask job.” Trask? The name was familiar to Charles... he followed the clerk's reference back and found that it was one of the major developers in the Westchester County.

“He can't do that, that's a completely separate – look, okay, did he say when he would be back?”

The clerk wanted to get back to his magazine. He folded his arms and sighed, “He's out for the weekend, man. Hey – you okay?” Not concern, but curiosity and a hint of hunger for someone else's drama. The emotion reminded Charles too much of school and made him vaguely queasy.

Erik shook his head, “It's fine, just forget it.” From the clerk's perspective, Erik's frustrated face was much angrier and darker than Charles was used to seeing. He wondered if that's how most people saw his friend, and then he wondered which was the more truthful perception, his or theirs. 

Charles retreated back into his own mind, but not before catching speculation from the clerk that Erik was having money problems. Charles made sure to put an unconcerned look on his face in time for Erik to get back into the car.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Charles thought over what he'd heard. The clerk hadn't known the nature of work Erik was doing that involved Trask, but Charles strongly doubted it was legal. Looking over, he could see no sign of the worry Erik had shown in the store on Erik's face; he just looked like his normal self.

A few minutes later, Erik pulled up in front of what looked like a dumpy apartment complex and looked over at Charles with a grin. The sun slanting over his shoulder caught the angles of his face, warming his skin tone and Charles along with it. And there was a reminder flashing in the back of his mind but oh, he wanted to ignore it: _you're only going to be here for the summer_.

 


	5. The "Apartment"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to send you a love letter, my dear. Do you know what that is? It's a bullet straight from my gun to your heart. 
> 
> \- Sniper Wolf, _Metal Gear Solid_

“Yeah – yeah, that's right. _Take it._ Oh, yeah – _yes_!”

Erik jumped up and cheered, controller dangling from one hand as the other pumped the air in victory. Charles remained on the sofa and stared at the TV in despair.

He was going _out of his mind_. 

Erik had invited him up to his 'place', which turned out to be a seedy loft he shared with two bandmates. The apartment's door had a busted lock, and instead of fixing it, Erik apparently just fused it to the doorjamb every day. (“It's more secure anyway,” he said. Charles voiced the doubt that anyone would want to steal anything, to which Erik replied cryptically, “Theft's not the problem.”)

He'd given Charles a tour which consisted of standing in the center of the room and pointing around. Charles quickly lost track of what-was-what-was-who's; everything looked the same – that is, strewn with trash and dirty laundry. Once that show of horrors was over, Erik had casually suggested a round of video games. He'd popped in _Metal Gear Solid_ and then sat down next to Charles – right next to him, in fact. Thighs spread wide and bumped up against his, arm close enough to keep brushing Charles's every few seconds.

It was torturous. Charles tried shifting a few precious inches away a couple times, but within a few minutes Erik invariably ended up back against him. Charles would glance over, sure that this assault on his nerves couldn't possibly be by accident, but every time Erik's eyes were trained on the game, completely oblivious.

Charles couldn't help but be hyper-conscious of every moment: the points of pressure all along his leg, the smooth contours of Erik's arms, the _smell_ of him – but he tried to follow Erik's lead and act unaffected.

And so here he was now, playing very badly under a cloud of distraction and stuck with a seemingly semi-permanent semi.

“You okay?” Erik asked after he was done crowing for several minutes (Erik was still an insufferable winner, this had not changed).

Charles blinked and looked up; Erik was looking at him expectantly.

“What?” Charles said, and then quickly: “Yes.” Then he thought about it and continued, “Actually, I have to go to the loo, I'll be right back.” He shot to his feet with such speed Erik actually took a step _back_ , and made a beeline for the bathroom.

“The _loo?_ ” Erik said to his retreating back.

Once the door was shut and pointlessly locked, Charles wasted no time unzipping and wrapping a hand around himself. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, face hot with shame and a desperation to just _get it over with_.

This wasn't what he wanted. It shouldn't be this difficult to just be friends again, and yet here he was, a walking cliché, incapable of keeping things platonic for even a day. Charles juggled these thoughts with images of Erik – the cut of his hipbones when he raised his arms, his crooked sidelong smile – and came soon with a clenched jaw and tight feeling of self-recrimination.

After a few seconds, he absently wiped his hand off with some toilet paper and tucked himself back in. It was only then that the filthy state of the bathroom started to register. The walk space between the toilet and sink was smaller than a closet, and the tub had hair in the drain and something growing under the mat. Bizarrely, these details served to calm him down.

Without thinking too hard about how he was being a complete tosser, Charles concentrated and reached out for Raven. It was surprisingly easy; the density and number of minds in M-o-H was a drop in the bucket to London.

He got an image of Raven driving and singing along to the radio before he said _Raven, I need your help._

She jumped and swerved violently into the other lane, nearly driving off the road. By the time she came to a stop she was swearing furiously. _Don't_ do _that, I've told you, nearly got me killed._

_Sorry,_ he said. And then, _I really need you to come to Erik's apartment. Quickly._

_What, why?_ But she was already looking over her shoulder and turning the car around.  _And did you say apartment? He's not living it up in the trailer park anymore?_

He really didn't want to have to explain his embarrassing problem like this and was running out of time besides, so he just gave her the address and told her to hurry. When he left her mind, he found he was still standing in front of the toilet with sticky hands and didn't know how long he'd been in the bathroom. 

Charles turned to the sink and washed his hands and face under the cool water. After patting his face dry, he stared into the mirror suspiciously. Was it obvious that he'd just jerked himself off like some kind of pathetic pubescent freshman? The flush was fading from his cheeks, but he still looked a little wild about the eyes. His hair was a mess, like he'd ran his hands through it agitatedly, but he couldn't remember doing so.

“Jesus, get a grip,” he muttered at his reflection. He shook out his shoulders, pasted a casual expression on his face, and stepped out of the bathroom –

Whereupon Erik grabbed him up in a headlock.

“The _fuck_?” Charles staggered, struggling with the arm around his neck.

“Charles, you need to _relax_ ,” Erik said conversationally. He began tugging his hunched and uncooperative form further into the room toward the couch. “You've been acting like a total spaz. And as an old friend, it hurts me to see you like this.”

“Oh – fuck you,” Charles said and elbowed Erik hard just below the ribs. The other boy let go of him with a surprised grunt and then it was _on._

In a few short minutes they managed to shove the couch sideways several feet, dislodge all the cushions, and knock over a lamp. Charles gained the upper hand by shoving Erik's face into the nearest pile of laundry – serve him right for leaving dirty socks lying about, the slob – but then Erik twisted his hips and threw Charles off, immediately clambering on top. He pinned Charles's arms to the floor and looked down at him, red-faced and breathing hard from the exertion.

“Say uncle,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Charles said again automatically; he was still in the wrestling mindset and not really thinking properly when he strained his whole body up in an effort to dislodge Erik. He didn't take into account Erik's thighs, which were like iron bands over his hips easily stopping any movement – and so didn't realize he was basically thrusting against the other boy until he'd already done it. His hips stuttered to a halt.

Erik grinned triumphantly down at him, eyes tracking over Charles's face intently.

The haze cleared just enough from Charles's mind for him to take in their position and for an entirely different type of haze – half panic, half arousal – to start to take its place.

“Um,” Charles said.

Erik's grin faded a little, turned calculating, and he flexed his grip on Charles's wrists. Charles felt the strong hold all the way down his arms and, to his horror, felt himself start to harden again. Two thoughts flashed through his mind pretty much simultaneously:

 _God, he hated being a teenager_ and _he could delete this whole incident from Erik's mind._

Before he could consider the highly tempting but entirely immoral second thought, someone knocked loud on the apartment door.

Unfortunately Erik didn't seem to notice it, too busy cocking his head down at Charles. When it happened again, Charles cleared his throat and said, “Erik? The door – you probably locked one of your flatmates out, yeah?”

Erik's eyes flicked up to the door and his lips thinned, but he didn't move for a second or two. Finally the third knock came and he stood up with a roll of his eyes. Charles took a moment to breathe in a sigh of relief as the other boy walked over to the door and threw it open.

“I told you guys not to come back until – _Raven_?” Erik broke off, confused. “What are you doing here?”

Charles tilted his head back and saw his sister walk inside. She shot a quizzical look to where he was still lying on the floor and said to Erik, “Well, you know, Charles is really codependent, can't go more than a few hours without seeing me. He told me to stop by.” She spun to smile at Erik, “These feelings of insecurity, I blame our parents.”

Charles snorted and climbed to his feet. Raven walked past, looking at him with sly golden eyes from beneath her lashes and thinking, _Got your number now, Charles. So, Erik, huh?_

Charles was still too relieved to do anything but smile at her gratefully. (This feeling would pass momentarily.) He glanced back to Erik, who was still standing by the door with a look of disbelief on his face. Charles shrugged at him, and Erik just shook his head slowly with an oddly rueful expression.

“I am _not_ playing this,” Raven said, sitting down and dragging a controller onto her lap. “What else you got?”

Erik shut the door with a bang and turned to them, “I've got a few multiplayer games in the box there. Take your pick.”

When he joined them on the couch, Raven sitting in the middle like the smirkiest chaperone in existence, Erik was back to looking relaxed and carefree. And if he kept his limbs to himself suddenly, well, Charles figured it was either a sudden onset of good manners or, more likely, a healthy desire to avoid more bruises.

 


	6. The Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the next few weeks, they hung out whenever they could in between Erik's shifts at the store or the more dubious side jobs for Seb. He'd drop by at strange times, all hours of the day and night, even if it was just to join Charles and Raven lying on the grass and doing absolutely nothing.

“If you two aren't careful, you're going to be like those eccentric landed gentry that are always in English novels,” Erik said one afternoon when they were all out on the back verandah. Raven was trying to learn yoga from a book and Charles was pretending to still be interested in _On the Road_ , even though he was pretty sure it wasn't to his taste. “One of these days I'm going to come over and you'll be painting naked or playing croquet.”

“Playing croquet naked?” Raven said, intrigued.

“You've read English novels?” Charles said, surprised.

Erik flicked him with water from his drink and looked sorely like he wanted to put him in a headlock again. He thankfully refrained, just as he had been doing since the day Charles first went over to his apartment.

Their interactions were a thorny mix of gratifying ease and blind corners. Erik was, if possible, even more hard to read than he used to be. He played everything close to the chest; sometimes they'd be talking and he would just... shut down. _That_ was exactly as Charles remembered – he'd never worked so hard in a friendship for so little reciprocation.

In moments like that, yeah, Charles would feel tempted to use his power, but with Erik it never felt fair or right. The fact that Charles actually _cared_ what Erik thought was the very reason he didn't feel comfortable peeking. And if Charles didn't really feel this compunction with most other people – well, hey, he never claimed to be perfect.

“You two are coming on Friday, right?”

Charles paused, nonplussed, but Raven said easily, “Sure, you know we wouldn't miss a chance to see you play.” She was upside down and squinting at picture of a pose, not really paying attention.

Then Charles remembered: the Battle of the Bands over in Kingston. He'd meant to come up for an excuse back when Erik first mentioned it, but they were swimming down by the river that day and Charles had gotten... distracted. _Damn it._

Erik sat back in his chair, smirking in that way that meant he was pleased but wanted to look cocky and unaffected. Looking at his quietly satisfied face, Charles sighed a little and resigned himself to a night of terrible music.

–

The club was an all-ages joint on the bank of the Rondout in what passed as a “sketchy” neighborhood in Kingston. They were handed a flyer with the night's line-up as they entered, shaking their hands to dry the stamps that weren't going to mean a damn thing when Charles put his mind to it.

The club tried to make up for the lack of talent by cranking the sound system higher and getting creative with lighting. There were enough dark corners where underage attendees could both sip from flasks and grimace like amateurs without being seen.

Leery of the speaker crackle and demanding press of both bodies and minds, Charles elected to station himself on the second floor, where he could look out over the stage and dance floor without being in danger of catching something. Raven rolled her eyes at him and disappeared in the milling masses, but Erik stuck close to his side, a warm presence at his shoulder.

Charles sipped his warm beer. Raven had begged him to make an exception to his rule against using his power for petty reasons, and while obtaining alcohol counted as a petty reason depending on the night, Charles decided that tonight was not one of those nights after hearing the opening strums of the too-earnest prog-rock sensation Factor Three.

He and Erik sat drinking their beers while perusing the night's line-up. The Brotherhood was the fourth to play, and they were bracketed by a series of bands with names that could have come out of a comic book reject pile: Clan Akkaba, Nasty Boys, Children of the Vault, The Reavers, The Purifiers, Freedom Force, and the Savage Land Mutates.

“Are you kidding me with these?” Charles asked, waving the event flyer.

“Hey, that's our competition you're trashing,” Erik paused. “Please continue.”

“The Savage Land Mutates? What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Oh, _them_ ,” Erik shook his head dismissively, “A bunch of wannabes trying to be edgy. Only the bass player and drummer are actually mutants.”

“Really?” Charles looked up from the flyer curiously, “What can they do?”

Erik shrugged, indifferent in a way he never was back when he first found out he was a mutant. “Whatever it is,” he said, shouting to be heard over the sudden enthusiastic addition of a synthesizer from below. “it doesn't involve anything to do with making good music.”

–

Erik disappeared an hour and a half into the night to go warm-up with the rest of his band.

Sitting up in the darkened balcony wasn't as fun by himself, so Charles sighed and made his way downstairs. He didn't immediately find Raven but decided against locating her mind; he wouldn't be able to use her as a social crutch at Columbia. Better get used to that now.

He grabbed himself another PBR and leaned up against one of the pillars on the outer ring of the dance floor, trying to look comfortable and cool. Judging from how the two girls standing a foot away glanced at him and immediately slid away, he might have failed a little.

A few minutes later the stage lights flooded a neon red and swiveled twice over the room as an ear-splitting guitar riff shrieked into existence. Charles flinched away from his leaning post and looked over in time to see Erik jump off the drum platform with a high kick. His playing hand was held proudly up in the air as the metal strings on his guitar vibrated violently by themselves. The crowd's attention thus caught, Sean Cassidy screamed a count off into the mic, and The Brotherhood began to pummel the airwaves.

“Good _lord_ ,” Charles said involuntarily, but no one, including himself, could hear his words over the music.

–

Fifteen minutes later Charles had drifted out to stand in front of the stage, where he could watch with a better view, even if it meant being bumped into every ten seconds by would-be moshers.

Charles tensed as he felt a brush against his neck but relaxed as two slender blue arms came into view from behind and wrapped themselves around him. Raven hooked her chin over his shoulder and they stood watching the show, swaying slightly to the beat of the music (that was all Raven, fingers digging into his shoulders to force him along).

“You know who's _really_ hot?” Raven said into his ear after a few minutes of nonconsensual swaying.

Charles sighed. “Leave it, I'm not going to do anything.”

She laughed, throwing her head back and giving him a little shake. “You don't even _try_ to deny it. I knew you couldn't have escaped Eton without getting some action.”

“If you're implying that public school turned me queer, that's not how it works.”

Raven hummed, and Charles shifted against the weight of her arms.

“...It might have helped put things into perspective though,” Charles admitted and smiled faintly as she laughed again. The smile lingered as he watched Erik on stage.

The shifting red and blue stage lights of the club threw his face into sharp relief, making hollows under his cheekbones and brow and highlighting the gleam of sweat on his neck and arms. His expression was intent, every inch of his body moving tightly in conjunction with his focus.

It didn't really matter, then, that the music was terrible or that Erik's predilection for using his powers on his guitar strings made for more noise than finesse – standing up there with his normally too-serious face lit up, Charles had never seen anymore look more alive. It was the look he used to get when he was batting; Charles realized all at once he hadn't seen it once this summer until now.

He watched him and felt the bass from the speakers like waves lapping at his mind. He was finally starting to feel a little loose from the beer, more warm.

“What do you think it would be like?” Raven asked as they both watched Erik. “All that temper and focus directed at you, can you imagine it?”

Charles watched the flex of Erik's arms as he angled the guitar in some poseur rocker pose, watched the flicker of his long fingers over the strings.

“Like something between rage and serenity, I think,” he said. He doubted Raven could hear his reply over the music, and she didn't react. He licked his lips, but his mouth was too dry to help much.

“He's watching us, you know,” Raven said. She sounded far too amused, but Charles was in no state to scold her, especially when she continued, “Do you think he could hold you down?”

Erik _was_ watching them, his eyes in shadows from the club lights, sudden attention like a laser through the club haze.

Charles felt heat bloom around his collar from where Raven had draped her arms. He turned his head slightly and said into her ear, “I need another drink.”

–

Charles had always had a sort of double-vision when it came to Erik, always saw him through a shifting lens of his own history and his telepathic perceptions of how others saw him. It should have been disorienting, but instead he theorized it was exactly this faceted view that was the root of his own foolish crush. (A crush on Erik required a theory; as a hopeful-scientist Charles understood that the first step to explaining the bizarre was to assemble and test a hypothesis).

There was no other way to explain how he could simultaneously see Erik on stage as a troubled teenager who took himself far too seriously _and_ as a powerful, compelling figure with deep emotional reserves. Christ, just listen to yourself, Charles thought. You were mocking the stench of his socks just _yesterday_.

–

Erik and his band disappeared behind stage for over forty minutes after their set ended, and Raven was off in a corner somewhere trying out different faces on a difficult conquest, so Charles was left alone again to drink and struggle with his intensifying glaze of boredom.

He wasn't doing anything, or talking to anyone, so it was therefore pretty confusing when he found himself the target of a sneering attack.

It came from a random boy who apparently considered himself a musical rival of The Brotherhood. He was garbed in a large nylon shirt with an eye-searing image of a dragon wreathed in flames and black pants with legs so wide they looked like a skirt at first glance. Charles blinked at him for a few seconds before the boy's words started to register.

“...with those mutant hicks who don't know how to play their instruments, right?”

“What?” Charles finally looked away from the nylon dragon and up to the boy's twisted, pierced features.

“I saw you hanging off the tall one earlier. You their groupie or something?”

“Groupie,” Charles repeated slowly, trying to grasp the idea of anyone wanting to be a groupie for a band as demonstrably bad as The Brotherhood. And then, “Hey, I wasn't _hanging off_ him!”

The boy took a step closer and folded his arms, obviously trying to loom over Charles even though he was only a couple inches taller. All at once, Charles felt very tired; he'd gone to an all-boys boarding school and seen enough hyper-masculine posturing for one lifetime.

He was ready to say something to prematurely end the unwanted conversation and walk away, but the boy was apparently impatient with his silence and decided to shove him.

Charles stumbled back, cheeks burning with humiliation. A few people near them gasped and a crowd started to gather, as instinctive as vultures circling roadkill.

Charles straightened and took a very careful breath, acutely aware of how easy it would be for him to just reach out and do some irreparable damage to the idiot in front of him. Dragon Shirt lifted his chin and smirked, clearly thinking somewhere in his small brain that he'd already won. This was something that Charles still struggled with, the hot flash of irritation that came when people underestimated him and the temptation to prove them wrong.

“The fuck is going on?” Erik suddenly pushed through the crowd and took in the situation with one quick glance before narrowing his eyes at Dragon Shirt.

“I was just telling your little fairy here what I thought about your band.” And, as if that comment hadn't been enough to piss Erik off, the boy continued, “I think it's only natural that you can't play worth shit, you freaks are too used to cheating at everything to actually be good.”

Charles was so focused on monitoring everyone to make sure no one surprised them with a cheap shot that he couldn't stop Erik's reaction beading up in his mind, like blood from a new cut: _cheating, it's always cheating with these people even as they stack everything in the world against him, make him fail, they did with baseball and they did it at school_ –

Charles felt the blurring rage rise and without thinking turned his back completely on Dragon Shirt to focus on Erik. He tried to catch his narrowed eyes and said:

“Erik, I think you should back off before things get out of hand.”

Erik shrugged tensely, not looking away from Dragon Shirt. “Things won't get out of hand.”

“That's not what I'm sensing right now.” Charles thought about reaching up to grip his shoulder, but his hand just wavered down by his side, indecisive.

Erik glanced at him with a flicker of confused impatience, “I've got this, Charles. See all those piercings? Do you have any idea what I could do to him with those?”

A ripple of unease went through those in the crowd close enough to overhear, and Dragon Shirt flushed, eyes suddenly widening in both fear and anger.

“Did you just threaten to use your freak powers on me, you fag?”

“Okay,” Charles said quietly.

Everyone froze for a moment, and Charles irritably wiped the last minute from the minds of everyone except Erik, instructing the crowd that nothing was happening and maybe they should just go back to their dancing and shitty music. When he lifted his hold, the crowd fell in line, looking away and beginning to undulate in a wave of teenage hormones once more. The tension in the room dissipated like smoke in open air.

“Huh,” Erik said, squinting over at Dragon Shirt, who was blinking around in mild confusion about why he was standing in the middle of the dance floor. He looked back at Charles, his eyes dark and unreadable. “I forgot you used to do that.” He frowned, “Even before we knew about your powers, you were always butting in.”

“Yeah, well,” Charles tried to smile. “I imagine you saw more than a few fights after I left.”

Erik's lips quirked, not entirely happily. “Something like that.”

“In fact, I'm surprised you're still in one piece.”

“More or less,” Erik said. He started to shift, all revved-up adrenaline with nothing to do. “Not as much fun this way, though. He deserved to have his piercings ripped out and reinserted somewhere.”

“Trust me,” Charles said. “You'll have plenty more chances in life at the likes of him.”

–

“Drunk Xavier siblings,” Erik said at some point later in the night. “Great.”

Someone giggled. Probably Raven, Charles decided; men do not giggle.

“You're both sitting in the back – throw up and I'll kill you.”

“Oh, he's going to _chauffeur_ us, Charles!” Raven said happily. “He's our new Howlett.”

“Howlett!” Charles had forgotten about Howlett. Good man. He leaned forward between the seats until his seatbelt – hello, where did _that_ come from – stopped him, so he ended up just butting his head against Erik's shoulder and rubbing his face over the thin stretch of shirt. “Good man, Howlett, take us to the party.”

“I'm taking you home,” Erik said.

“Then we'll have a party at our house.”

Raven gasped and tugged at his arm in excitement. “Oh, do you mean it? We can have a party?”

Charles fell backwards against the seat, head rocking like a boat against the waves. He snuggled down so he could dock it on Raven's shoulder and said grandly, “My dear, we will have the best party Molesworth-on-Hudson has ever seen.”

He closed his eyes sometime after that, deciding sleep was a good thing. The last thing he remembered seeing was Erik's dark gaze on him in the rear-view mirror as he moved them safely through the dark night.

–

 


	7. The Mutant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human expression, if given a chance, can free the world. 
> 
> \- Cingular TV Spot

Charles woke up the next morning to the sun roasting him alive through the open windows. His head hurt, he was covered in sweat, and he needed desperately to urinate. He felt more animal than human, flailing under all the negative sensory inputs and reacting with nothing more than a terrible moan.

Eventually he was able to stumble half-blind to the bathroom to relieve his bladder and splash water on his face. He stared blearily into the mirror for a long moment, trying to collect his thoughts. As he took in his puffy, bloodshot eyes and wrecked hair, the end of the night started to resolve itself in small fragments of humiliation.

“Oh god,” he said aloud, voice both hoarse and too-high. “I _didn't_.”

“If you're talking about when you wrapped yourself around Erik's leg and insisted that he stay to cuddle with us,” said Raven, slumped against the open doorway of the bathroom, looking mildly less hungover and therefore ten times better than he was feeling. “You _did_. Yes.”

He brought his hands to his head like if pressed it hard enough, the pounding would ease up. “I don't – so did he stay? Is he still here?” He didn't know which would be worse, Erik waiting downstairs in the kitchen or absent because Charles weirded him out.

He felt a wave of _amusement-pity_ from Raven, and his hangover must have been bad if he was receiving emotions unintentionally.

“No, he left late last night after you passed out on the stairs . Said he had to open the store this morning.”

Charles nodded along before the full impact of what she said hit him. “Wait.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “How'd I get up here if I fell asleep on the stairs?”

And Raven smiled sweetly at him, but in her head she was _laughing it up_ with an image of Charles being carried bridal-style up the stairs.

–

An hour later Charles felt, if not better exactly, at least marginally more put-together. He threw down the last of his toast crusts and sipped some more water. The house was quiet, empty of other people, and just what he needed.

Of course, then a bobbing cloud of thoughts and curiosity came in through the front door. Raven, returning with the mail.

“That school sent you something,” she announced, dropping a large envelope onto his crumb-covered plate and narrowly missing knocking over the water glass beside it.

He cast her a sulky look, but she was already flipping through a magazine, oblivious. So he turned his attention to the envelope. It was the housing forms for the fall. 

He scanned the forms, read the on-campus housing policy for first years, and wondered how hard it would be to convince the school he needed a single. He'd get one for sure if he disclosed his mutation, because most schools nowadays wanted to avoid a repeat of the UCLA situation when student found out her roommate was an empath and sued the school for negligence. Columbia didn't require disclosure though, and he'd really prefer to put off that conversation until something forced his hand.

“Raven, have you thought about what you're doing in the fall yet?” He asked, still pouring over the forms. It was a casual question, but at her sudden mental spike he looked up.

She didn't look any different, but her eyes were no longer moving over the pages of the magazine. She shrugged, casual. “I have a few ideas. I'm not feeling rushed.”

Charles said carefully, “I'm glad you don't feel rushed. You should enjoy the summer.” He eyed her for a second before continuing, heedless of her bunching shoulders, “But it _is_ mid-July, and I don't – _you_ don't – want to be stuck here, right? When I head off to Columbia? Do you?”

She asked, “Why would I be stuck here just because you've gone? I have my own life, you know.”

“Of course you do, I just meant....” He shrugged. “Well, what are you going to do with yourself?”

“ _Do with myself?_ ” Raven laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. “God, Charles, you make _living_ sound like such a burden.”

“I just mean you should have a plan,” he said in his most reasonable tone. His most reasonable tone often just drove her more up the wall, but that wasn't his fault. Really.

Raven finally dropped the magazine and leaned forward across the counter. “Why are you asking me all these questions? Just because you're going to college doesn't mean you're any more grown-up than me, you know.”

Charles rubbed his eyes, feeling the simmering anger under her thoughts, and decided to let things rest for the moment. Nothing was going to be solved when they were both hungover. And she was right about one thing – it was still the middle of the summer. There was time enough to talk to her about the fall later.

“Look, just forget it, okay?” He said, dropping his hand and trying to look as inoffensively-placating as he could. She looked away, jaw still tight, and he sighed internally, already regretting what he was about to do.

“So when did you want to have that party?” He asked, deliberately casual. It worked.

Raven's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He could tell that she was suspicious of the subject change, but she couldn't resist taking advantage of his peace offering. After a moment she started to smile, “So, you meant it last night? I thought you were just being a nice drunk.”

“Well – yeah, I _was._ But I think it could be fun and,” he was assailed then by Raven lunging over and hugging him tightly. “ _–_ and this _doesn't_ mean we're going to trash the house or invite the whole town or – ”

“Oh, _Charles_ ,” Raven said happily, still half-choking him with her hug. “The whole town wouldn't want to come. But _we're_ going to have a blast!”

–

Raven dropped him off a block away from the store to spare him the continuing indignity of being seen driven around.

The whole Eastern seaboard was caught in a heatwave. Charles pushed his sunglasses further up his sweat-slippery nose and started trudging along, feeling the press of the sun like gravity was feeding off it. Even the weeds in the sidewalk cracks were wilting. The air around the cars on the street wavered in a haze.

He was so distracted by the heat that he made it as far as the door to the shop before registering that Seb Shaw was inside and talking to Erik. Acting purely on instinct, he ducked out of view and ended up huddled next to the ice chest.

Wanting to listen in, he concentrated on Seb and nearly knocked his head back into the freezer with revulsion. The man's mind was like a dark swamp, full of stagnant pools of anger and buzzing, blood-sucking swarms of malice.

Charles felt goosebumps run the length of his limbs; he hadn't known this about his town.

Seb had been running the store in Molesworth-on-Hudson since he was a kid, and while he'd never particularly liked the man, he'd also never gotten the sense that he was an evil psycho. Suddenly his refusal to stock organic produce made a lot more sense.

Charles shook his head; he was losing focus.

Taking a breath and readying himself, he dipped back into Seb's mind. Now that he was prepared, it was slightly less overwhelming.

Erik was talking. “I told you, the man's set. We went through the list you gave us, but he wouldn't budge.”

Seb felt a flash of irritation. “There are other methods of persuasion, Erik.” He took a step closer to the boy. “Or don't you remember?”

Erik was not acting like the Erik Charles knew. He held himself too still, his eyes fixed unseeing on a spot off to the side. Charles feels a disorienting mix of his own alarm and Seb's sickening satisfaction at the sight of him.

“You never said I'd have to hurt anyone,” Erik said, words rebellious even if his tone was not. “Scare, sure – that can be fun – but I didn't sign up to – ”

“You didn't sign up at all, I caught you stealing from me,” Seb reminded him sharply. He lifted a hand and gripped Erik's shoulder. Charles clenched his fists at the way Erik flinched. “And don't forget what I did for you later, your senior year – the job and the advance on your wages. If it weren't for me, you'd still be easy pickings for the human trash in the trailer park.”

“And I – I _thanked_ you for that many times,” Erik said, fighting to lift his gaze to the other man's but coming up short.

“It's not the kind of debt that can be repaid,” Seb said with a grim sort of finality. Then he gentled his voice, “But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to reward your continuing loyalty. We mutants have to stick together, after all.”

And suddenly it was like Charles had tripped and fell down the rabbit hole. Seb's mind swallowed him up and Charles was drowning in his dreams and ambitions, details as small as the disgust he had for the human family _breeding_ across the street and as large his real estate portfolio, buying up business in the state –

It all clicked together in Charles's mind and he had to cut the connection or throw up. As it was, he ended up with his head between his knees, trembling and tasting bile in the back of his throat. Erik's bleak expression swam still in his mind and Charles was a grown man now, but he wanted nothing more at that moment than to curl up and cry.

 


	8. The Party, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Laney Boggs** : What is this, some sort of dork outreach program? 
> 
> \- _She's All That_ (1999)

Xavier House was overrun, colonized by invading hordes of hormonal, nervous youths intent on getting drunk and maybe slipping someone some tongue.

To a certain degree, Charles enjoyed the potential horror his parents would feel at the sight of several dozen sweaty townies moving through its pristine, hallowed walls. It would have shocked them speechless, at least for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, it was having the same effect on _him_.

He walked by a group of laughing people, felt the tight bubble of their thoughts – amusement, glee, a little confusion and self-consciousness at their surroundings. They were wondering where all the furniture was and if the party was being held illegally. They were wondering who was rich enough to live here. They didn't glance at him as he passed, but he still mentally flinched back. He ducked through to the kitchen.

A keg was standing large and incongruent in the middle of the polished marble floor. Raven was standing back gazing at it, red cup in hand. When she spotted him, she smiled broadly. She was in full Malibu Barbie splendor for the party, and he barely recognized her.

“Isn't this fantastic?” She said. “They're all just eating it up.”

“I don't know who any of these people are, Raven.”

“You don't?” Raven looked at him, puzzled. “Charles, we went to school with a lot of them. They aren't just randoms I picked up off the street.”

He just gave her a look.

She waved a hand in a way that was both conceding the point and dismissive. “Well, okay, some of them are, but I only picked cute ones.”

He snorted lightly and shook his head. His expression must've been bleaker than he'd intended, however, because next thing he knew, Raven was running a blue-tinged hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead and fixing him with a knowing look.

“Charles, maybe you should try socializing with someone other than me or Erik. You had friends in school, so I _know_ you know how to.”

He didn't bother going into his thoughts on the matter, that it seemed pointless since he was going away again in the fall. Raven wouldn't like to hear that. Neither would Erik, for that matter.

He leaned back until her hand dropped and forced a smile. “I'm going to go make sure no one's drawing on the walls or puking in the hallway hamper.”

He lets her sigh and accompanying wave of impatience carry him out of the room.

–

Erik and his brotherhood of mutant whatevers started playing about half an hour into the party. They announced their arrival by nearly blowing out everyone's ear drums.

Standing in the corner and watching Erik jump and flail, Charles was suddenly very glad there wasn't any furniture in the house. He didn't trust Erik not to descend into a fit of Townshend-inspired auto-destructive art and start knocking shit over.

Despite the lack of any discernible melody or compelling lyrics, people started to dance almost immediately. Turns out all that was really required was a beat and dim enough lights to set the mood. Charles downed his beer and went to get a refill.

–

An hour later and Charles desperately needed a break, just a short bit of uncluttered air. So he let himself out the back door into the large private yard. He settled down on the steps of the deck with a grateful sigh and watched shadows of dancing figures cross the long rectangles of light cast on the grass by the sitting room's prominent bay windows. He could feel the swell of emotion and thump of the bass like a wall for him to put his back up against.

“Now what the hell is _this_?” Erik said, coming up from behind and breaking through that wall effortlessly.

Charles sighed. “I just needed some fresh air.”

“No,” Erik said. “That's not what I meant.”

Something hurtled past his head from behind, missing his ear by inches. Charles jumped. When he peered forward, he saw his football roll to a rest in the middle of the lawn, gleaming white and striped blue.

“What?” Charles twisted around to look up at Erik, who smirked briefly at him before settling in at his side. He misjudged the distance and sat a little too close, his thigh and shoulders pressing against Charles's. He didn't move though.

“Found that in the hallway closet,” Erik nodded at the ball. “Given that there's almost nothing in this house you two didn't bring with you, I'd say you've been hiding something from me.”

 _That's rich_ , Charles thought darkly but didn't say anything. He hadn't yet spoken to Erik about what he overheard at Seb's market. He had no idea how to even begin to approach the subject. He wasn't sure there was even a point to doing so; it's not like he was going to fix Erik's mess of a life before September.

In response to Erik's words, he merely shrugged.

“I played at school.” He slanted a look over his shoulder. “They didn't do baseball over there.”

He felt with interest the way Erik sidestepped that thread to say instead, “Well, you were always good at running.”

Charles felt a stupid little simmer of pleasure at the compliment before he caught the sardonic curve of his friend's smile.

“There's more to it than running,” he said, peeved.

“Oh?” Erik said in surprise, the bastard. “Isn't it just _run_ , kick the ball, _run after it_ , repeat until everyone in the audience falls asleep and everyone can go home?”

“Right, that's it.” Charles stood up and his taller shadow followed suit. He hopped off the deck and jogged over to the ball, nudged it up onto the laces of his foot and launched it into the air towards Erik. Erik caught the ball, a gratifyingly surprised look on his face.

Charles waved at the space between a maple tree and rose bush. “See if you can get the ball past me – using only your feet. Drop the ball and don't you dare pick it up again.”

Erik paused a moment, looking him over.

While he was waiting, Charles became aware once more of the raucous noise from the party in the house. Suddenly he felt doubt – what was he _doing_ , suggesting they kick a ball around the yard like a pair of kids while their peers got drunk and danced inside? Erik's supposed to go play some more music in a little while; there's no reason he should want to hang out here with Charles.

Except Erik was already stepping down off the deck. He dropped the ball to the grass and, with a ferocious smile, kicked it gamely forward – away from the party and everyone else and towards Charles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha, does anyone even remember this story? I feel bad. Just know, though my eyes and fingers wander, my heart will always be with the XMFC fandom...


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